


Sendarian Practicality

by little_ogre



Category: Belgariad/Malloreon Series - David & Leigh Eddings
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathtubs, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, First Time, Heinous misinformation about sailors, M/M, Outdoor Sex, PWP, Pawn of Prophecy time period, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29533569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_ogre/pseuds/little_ogre
Summary: Silk may feel bad about being in love with another man’s wife but he has no compunctions seducing somebody’s husband.Or wherein Silks plan to annoy Barak by hitting on him backfires slightly.Or, how to make the miles go faster on a cart through Sendaria
Relationships: Silk/Barak
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6





	Sendarian Practicality

**Author's Note:**

> For a real old school feeling I should point out that I don’t own these characters nor do I make any money off this. 
> 
> This fic contains ~ lemons!~

Silk first met Barak in a shabby inn, to his elbows in a tankard of brown ale and none the worse for wear for it. He looked as if a whole vat of ale would not make a dent in his composure. 

Silk sipped his own sour wine as they exchanged introductions which grew into verbal barbs and spars. The Cherek man was slow and ponderous but it would be a serious mistake to belive him stupid. Silk reluctantly reached the off-putting conclusion that given half a chance he might come to genuinely like him. Silk tried to never have any genuine emotions at all if he could avoid it. He had not been in earnest for years. As a spy Silk had seen most things and nothing much of the seedier workings of humans surprised him anymore. Sometimes his _own_ reactions surprised him, but that just kept the game interesting. 

A few years back he had needed to develop a rather unheroic persona to infiltrate a Tolnedran trade conglomerate, and had grown an alias with a reputation as a frequenter of men’s bathhouses and steam rooms. He had to his great interest found that he rather liked the whole arrangement, and while he was always up for a good fuck (with woman or a man) he found that there was something to be said for being held down by a great hulking brute of a man and made to squeal with pleasure. Silk liked to be loud. And overwhelmed. And a cock big enough to be a challenge. And he liked his men to be solid. And Barak certainly was that. 

Their mysterious journey to meet Belgarath would likely be long and dull, and having a distraction would certainly pass the time.But first he had to inspect the merchandise, there was no point in getting excited about catching a great big prize before you were certain you wanted what you got. 

“There is a bathhouse down the road,” he said as the evening wore on. “If I’m going to sleep in hedges and lug old turnips around for the coming month for the old scoundrel, then I want a bath today. You should join me my friend?”

The bathhouse was run by a woman large enough to have been Barak’s cousin, and Silk looked at her admiringly as she hauled the buckets of water like it was nothing, her face red from the steam and the heat. They changed out of their clothes, surrounded by farmers and labourers gathered to wash the grime off before attending business in the town. Silk had to assist Barak with parts of the chain mail and made a point of letting his hands linger a little longer than strictly necessary. Just looking at the redheaded man made his mouth water. 

Barak was tall, a gigant, and barrel chested, his arms and trunk swelling with muscle, thick thighs and round calves all covered in red hair. He wore his size well, the contours of his muscles sitting like padding on him, making him look sturdy and inviting. He looked like a ride to grab on to, and Silk could already imagine sliding down on his cock to grab his chest and feel the firm swell of his muscles. He had a large, well muscled rear, almost plush in its roundness, and pleasantly furred. His red complexion has given him splashes of freckles on his hands and forearms, in sparser scatterings on his neck and shoulders and dense on the parts of his face not obscured by the beard, sitting on the bridge of his nose and cheekbones.

He was perhaps eyeing the Barak like a starving man eyeing a feast because the giant gave him a dry look, raising his eyebrows at him.

“Where I’m from, friend Silk, we let a man get his hose off in peace,” he said mildly and Silk grinned like a fox.

“Where I’m from we get a bit more friendly than that,” he said, letting his gaze linger meaningfully before turning around and tending to his own clothes.

The bathhouse was rustic, with stone tiled floor and rough wooden tubs but the water was hot and soft soap plentiful. There was even a sweat room where water poured over heated stones made the air so hot so it hurt to breathe. The sweat room was presided over by another burly woman with a birch switch which she used to swish over the backs of the sweating patrons and for a moment Silk wondered if they had wandered straight into something more debauched. Barak’s face lit up at the sight however and when the woman passed them he leaned over for her to swish and scratch all over his back. The birch switch and the heat made his skin glow cherry red, his braids hanging limp and soaked. 

“It’s a very common practice in Cherek,” Barak said. “It's good for the blood.”

“I’m sure,” Silk said sardonically and waved the woman away. He got enough of self-flagellation every time he went home.

Silk was happy to notice that he had not deceived himself and that Barak was indeed burly all over. His cock hung heavy among a nest of curls a shade darker than the red of his head, thick and broad and enticing. After a few trips to the sweat room, with breaks for dousing themselves in cold water they made it into the bathhouse and Barak picked a tub and sank into it with a happy sigh, undoing his braids and soaping up his beard. After a moment's consideration Silk sunk down in the other end of the tub, the two men facing each other.

“I’ve heard winters get very cold in Cherek,” he said, reaching out and letting his foot playfully touch Barak’s shin under the water. The other man stared at him with wide round eyes as he finally caught on and Silk felt his whole body tense up. Some men could be rather touchy about turning down an advance and Barak and himself had a long journey ahead of them, but Barak burst out in a great booming laugh, his smile cleaving his beard in a flash of white.

“Not _that_ cold, my friend,” he laughed, eyes crinkled in merriment. “Now get over here and I’ll soap that greasy mop for you before the fleas take over permanently.”

Silk sighed, “And I suppose in return you want me to wash your back for you?” he said in a sultry tone, batting his eyelashes. He was temporarily rejected, but not dissuaded. He gave Barak a long, hard look. “Or, at least - the hair - on your back,”

Silk’s father had once accused him of being perverse, since he at that time was very young he assumed his father had not been referring to his vices, but to his unbreakable habit of antagonizing people solely for his own amusement. He had assumed his flirting would be the thing to finally annoy Barak but the large man seemed bemused, and almost shyly flattered, by his advances. 

When they were on the third day in the cart, and Silk in a stage of advanced boredom placed his hand casually on Barak’s thigh, he drew himself up like an affronted maiden.

“I’ll have you know I’m a married man, Prince Kheldar,” he said primly, delicately removing the offending hand and Silk grinned and moved closer on the seat. 

“That’s fascinating,” he purred. “I’ve never entered the blessed state myself but I’ve heard there is _much_ to say for it.”

He _had_ heard one or two things about the state of Barak’s marriage, but it wouldn’t do to let on about that. Chereks were touchy about that sort of thing, as if information didn’t belong to anyone who could find out. He placed his hand right back to where it had been, perhaps a little higher and Barak shifted in his seat, torn between amusement and discomfort.

“Are there any other topics you’d care to discuss? I have been told I’m a _very_ gifted conversationalist.” Silk leaned even closer and angled his head so he could look up at Barak through his eyelashes and was pleased to see the other man blush. 

“You might be barking up the wrong tree here,” he said, removing Silks hand again and shifting away, putting some space between them

“Maybe not a full tree but certainly a hefty branch,” Silk said apprasively, with what he knew was a roguish grin, since had had practiced in the mirror over and over during his time at the Academy, and groped higher up Barak’s thigh until he could find the outline of his length and give it a friendly squeeze, and Barak made high pitched noise and pushed him away.

He was genuinely not sure that anything was going to come of it, until the fifth day, when it had been raining steadily, and the roads turned into churning mud. Barak had to get out several times and push them out, putting his massive shoulders to the wheels and heaving. By the end of the day he was muddy, wet and in a very bad mood. They had a small tent and most nights they would not bother to raise it, but this evening was too wet to even contemplate their usual arrangement of sleeping in the cart with the tarp thrown over. The tent was small enough for two people and smelled strongly of mildew, and all of the blankets were damp.

Barak, covered in mud, grumbling and groaning heated a pail of water over the fire to wash himself with a bucket and cloth as best as he could in the misting rain. Silk watched the whole miserable process from the tent until Barak came in, dressed in his rusty under-tunic and flopped himself down on his bedroll. He fussed and nested for a while with the blankets like a bear settling its den before he stilled, laying flat on his back and undid the ties of his trousers. 

“Fine,” he said curtly and gestured towards his groin. “You get it to stand, you may do what you want with it.”

“Excuse me?” Silk said,and Barak frowned like a thundercloud at him. 

“I _said_ , Prince Kheldar, if you get it to stand I’m all yours. I’m cold, damp, grimy and I’ve had nothing to eat but turnips for days and quite frankly I’d like to get my cock sucked. If you are not up for that but have been playing some sort of game here, then I have to say that my initial conclusion of Drasnians in general, and you in particular, as being all mouth and no trousers were correct and I will at the very least sleep in the satisfaction of being right.”

Silk stared at him, his mouth hanging slightly open. 

“Well?” Barak said angrily and a huge grin broke out over Silk's face, his nose twitching in excitement.

“I regret to inform you my friend that you were only partially right.”

“How so?”

“About Drasnians in general and me in particular. Whereas Drasinians in general do prefer action over talking, I, in particular, _am_ all mouth,” his smile grew wicked and Barak blushed, his eyes suddenly very large, and Silke laughed warmly before pulling him down.

*

“By the Bear gods stinking rear,” Barak swore some time later, an awestruck note in his voice as Silk delicately spat through the tent flap and wiped his mouth.

“No need for hyperbole my friend,” he said modestly, working his fingers, wiping them off on a cloth. “It's not my best work but not too shabby, if I do say so myself.”

“Last time somebody did that to me it cost me a gold piece and I had to use a codeword at the door.”

“You flatter me,” Silk said diffidently, brushing some mud off his tunic before starting to undo the lacings at the neck, Barak still dazedly mumbling about his fingers and where they had gone. “Now, shall we _really_ get down to it? I want to ride you like an Algarian steed.”

“What? No, oh no,” Barak said and rolled over on his side, hands protectively over his groin. “No, no, no, this is done for today. The tide has gone, the beast asleep, the...”

“What?” Silk said with outrage. “You said if I could get it up then you were mine to command.”

“If you could get it to stand yes, I thought you’d take it from there. I didn't expect you to start showing off.”

“You should have told me!”

“I did! Several times!”

“Not that, that you have the stamina of a...of a…” he trailed off not being able to think of something sufficiently insulting.

Silk looked down at his own trousers, where his own obvious erection was beginning to flag, too outraged to even speak and Barak sighed, his barrel chest heaving.

“Come here,” he rumbled, spreading his arms and pulling Silk up until he was sitting astride his wide chest, like a rider on a pony, his fingers clumsily undoing the trousers and pulling them down. Uncoordinated rubbing and gripping, his large hands grabbing the bony rump until Silk was bucking against him, rubbing up against his chest, letting his length ride the cleft between his pectorals, clawing at his nipples and digging his fingers into the chest hair, pulling at it.

“You bastard,” he panted as he worked himself against the sturdy chest. “Oh-oh, you absolute bastard, I ought to - Oh! Charge you one gold, at, at, at least.” With a final thrust he pushed himself over the edge, coming with a keening wail, panting and swearing, thumping his fist once or twice against the thick shoulder underneath him.

“There, that wasn't so bad was it,” Bara said mildly as Silk tipped over on his side, eyes closed.

“I can't believe you tricked me like that, if all Cherek men are like you, no wonder they say what they say about Cherek women. 

“What do they say about Cherek women?”

“That they are so unsatisfied that they seek out the bears and the wolverines for proper intercourse. They say that Bela the great Queen of Cherek was crushed by a horse when she tried to fuck a stallion, because apparently her warriors could only _get it up once a night_!”

“I’m not so young as I was,” Barak said sagely, “And they do not say that about Queen Bela. Now quit your bellyaching and come here.”

“Come where?” Silk said sourly and then made a noise of indignant surprise as Barak pulled him up and kissed him. 

“That was like kissing a Mallorean rug,” he said with distaste and Barak laughed and curled around him, the rain still whispering against the tent cloth.

“You have to see,” Barak said the next day, “I got my education at sea, and there was a certain kind of protocol you’d have to follow.”

“I was trying to get fucked, not get an audience with the king,” Silk said waspishly but Barak only laughed.

“No right thinking sailor would ever _dream_ of being so forward.First my friend, you have to be at least three weeks at sea - any earlier and they’ll just think you’re easy - and then, you have to establish that you will absolutely think about a buxom maid that you know at shore, after which you can meet up behind a capstan for some fumbling down each other’s trousers, while you don't make eye contact and generally pretend the other person isn’t there, and once all that is out of the way you may speak to the captain about starting to formally court each other.”

Silk gave him a dark look and Barak shrugged and continued. 

“It’s an elaborate ceremony, usually you have to have a senior sailor intercede for you and carry out the negotiations and come to agreement on how much loot you agree to settle on each other as a dowry before you can have chaperoned walks together on deck. Then of course comes the formal ceremony when you bugger each other behind the mizzen mast. The rest of the crew get an extra ration of mead.”

Silk glared at him. “There is no way any of that is true,” he said.

Barak shrugged his massive shoulder. “The first half was. Of course when a ship crosses the Cherek bore in her maiden voyage you have to celebrate with a wedding between the sea god and one of his mermaids, usually that's the prettier lads but every once in awhile you get an old hand. The married couple usually insists on a wedding night and sometimes a honeymoon too, and tend to serve on the same ship. Very bad luck to break up a bore-marriage.”

“Is that really what sailors get up to? I always suspected that all that fresh air wasnt healthy.”

“Things get boring during long sea voyages. What I’m saying my friend is that among sailors your behaviour would be considered…” Barak sighed, searching for the right word. “ _Easy_ ” he said after a pause and Silk screeched indignantly. “A...a _floozy_ ” Barak continued with satisfaction. “Throwing yourself on a man,” and Silk was too outraged to even talk, he could only cough and splutter, beating with his fist against the giant's shoulder and when Barak started to laugh he stared at him with wide eyes. 

“You bastard,” he breathed. “You utter bastard. You incomplete spawn of a hairy carpet trader and a poxed whore!” Which made Barak laugh even harder. 

“Don’t be so serious, little rabbit,” he said, reaching out to wrap a hand over the back of Silks neck and give his cheek a smacking kiss. “You’ll get yours later. If you are good” he added. 

Silk seethed for the whole day, he had the dreadful feeling that he was being outsmarted somehow and it made him tetchy. Silk was prepared to admit he was not good company when he was tetchy. Not that Barak seemed to care, and why should he? He’d got to come so hard he saw stars last night, while Silk had to be satisfied with humping his leg like an overly excited dog. So he was definitely in a less than generous mood. Neither Rhodar nor the old man had been particularly forthcoming about what their mission was, all Silk knew was to meet up with Barak and meet the sorcerers at the appointed place with a viable alibi for travelling through Sendaria and nothing much more, not that he couldn't make his own guesses. But even so it was a boring old journey, slowly trekking down the country road without as much as a view to make up for it.

A fine, dry evening meant they didn't have to bother with pitching the tent, but instead rolled their blankets on the back of the carts among the turnips. Silk had just found a position among the soil-smelling sacks that was not completely uncomfortable, and started dropping off when he felt a light touch at the nape of his neck. 

“I believe there was a debt between us?” Barak rumbled, his finger gently tracing a path from the collar of Silks shirt to his ear and Silk harrumphed and turned over his shoulder.

“And _I_ thought I was a floozy?” he said sourly, pulling his cloak tighter around him, and Barak laughed.

“I never said it was a bad thing!” he objected, rolling Silk back towards him. Silk thought about playing hard to get, he thought about telling Barak to take it to old One-Eye for all he cared and then he thought about all the long boring miles through Sendaria, and the satisfaction of getting at least a half decent fuck before meeting Belgarath and Lady Polgara. They had a depressing tendency of just not understanding how to have fun at all.

“Ugh, fine” he said simply, rolling his eyes and undoing the lacings to his trousers in a brisk motion but Barak’s hands on his stilled him. Barak had a strange insistence on kissing, slow and with a lot of tongue, and Silk was going to protest before he noticed that it was quite nice. His mouth was soft on Silk’s, curious and almost light, in sharp contrast how his heavy body pressed hot and insistent against him. Barak was of considerable bulk and it was a long time, a long long time, since he had done this last. The soft beard tickled as Barak moved his mouth from his jaw to collarbone and down, down further pulling his tunic up, nosing along his chest and ribs, opening his mouth and placing huge playful bites on the sensitive skin, wet and sucking.

“You are a bear!” Silk tried to sound belligerent but it came out breathless, “Will you eat me?”

“I’ve not had anything but turnips for a good while and a man has appetites,” Barak answered, latching on and biting over the sensitive junction just above Silk’s groin, scraping his teeth gently over the hip bone. “And you my friend is such a succulent little morsel, how could I resist?”

“Oh, get on with it,” he breathed, pulling at Barak’s hair to get him where he wanted him, perhaps a bit harder than necessary. Barak ignored it in favour of biting across his hipbone, wandering over to the small of his back, biting and rubbing his beard over the top of his ass, working his fingers in between his cheeks, rubbing against his hole. Even dry it sent sparks along his spine and he was writhing against the sacks, rubbing and bucking up against them for friction. 

He had made his own preparations but before he could even mention that there was the scent of cloves and the silky soft feeling of high quality oil.

“What’s that?”he gasped and Barak snickered.

“The oil the Algarians use for their blades,” he said, slowly working his first finger in. “King Cho-Hag gifted me some the last time we met, when I remarked on the pleasant smell.”

That made Silk laugh, the anticipation of pleasure making the world soft at the edges.

“I don't think this was how he intended for you to use it,” he gasped working himself backwards on the second finger, rocking up against Barak’s hand in a nice little rhythm, almost enough in itself, and he toyed with the idea of getting himself off like this, just to be obnoxious, but just as Barak worked in a third finger and things started to feel _really_ good he withdrew them again, Silk moaning and rutting against the emptiness, trying to get friction back to where he wanted it. Barak, adding more oil, the viscous liquid sliding into his crack and dripping onto his balls, and then lined up and breached him and the air left his lungs. Silke keened and braced against the sack underneath him, panting against the intrusion. Barak’s free hand was stroking over his back and shoulder until he relaxed, the tenderness of the gesture grating on Silks nerves. The men in the back alleys and steam rooms had not been like this, tender and love-making, they had laughed at his slight frame, pinched his sides and pulled his hair and given him pleasure until he cried with it. He had carried the bruises and aches for days with him proof that he for once had earned his pleasure.

“Gods, what are you waiting for back there?” he panted. “The third age? Come on and fuck me already.

Barak didnt reply but placed a large hand on his neck and held him down, biting down hard on the junction of his neck and shoulder, pain-pleasure spiking through him. In his hands Barak’s cock had felt impressive but now it felt enormous, pressing against him in all the right places, making him squirm and flex his hips to get more movement, more sensation, just more of everything. 

“Lets see, “ Barak said, “how flexible you _really_ are.” With one hand braced across Silk’s torso Barak lifted him backwards, leaning him against his own chest, his hand wandering over Silk's rib cage and thigh, down his calf until he could put his hand under Silk’s foot like a stirrup and lift it up until the knee touched Silk’s chest. Silk had nearly no power to brace or buck himself and had to entirely trust Barak to set the pace, brutal and fast until Silk’s spine was curving backwards, his head thrown back on Barak’s shoulder and his body contorting, feet tramping and flexing and pulling up his other leg until Barak lifted him with his hands under his knees, and fucked him by lifting up and slamming him down on his cock again and again. The wagon creaked and swayed alarmingly under them, and Silk could see the horses picketed nearby lift their heads, their ears clipping towards them, and Barak’s round, fat cock hit him in the right spot again, the large body underneath him moving inevitably until Silk was covered in sweat and mewling like a kitten, his legs kicking weakly. With an uncharacteristically rough movement Baral pulled out of him, Silk wailed in disappointment and Barak turned him around, laying him down on his back on one of the turnip sacks and entered him again, wrapping his hand around Silk, slick with oil and fluids timing his strokes with his rhythm, the feeling building and building and Silk and bit his lip to keep from screaming in between great gulping breaths for air and came all over himself.

He was still panting and recovering his breath, one of his legs still twitching uncontrollably and his arms shaking when he could feel warm come splash over his chest and stomach, Barak gripping around his wrist, squeezing so hard he thought it must bruise. 

“You didn’t,” he panted as soon as he could form words again, “you didn't learn that at sea.”

“I did say, sea voyages can get pretty long,” Barak said, patting him over a bony hip. “You’ve got to do something to keep yourself entertained.

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably an affront to god and man. Ruining my own childhood one fanwork at the time.
> 
> Also there needs to be more love for Barak, the man is a bear. Literally.
> 
> There is probably “Lore” contradicting Barak and Silk meeting for the first time just before going on the quest for the orb but we are not here for the canon anyway.


End file.
